


A Modern-Day Christmas Carol

by Peasantaries



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Christmas Fluff, Crack, Feel-good, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peasantaries/pseuds/Peasantaries
Summary: Derek Hale is an adult: he doesn't drink beverages with the title 'Christmas Cookie Latte.'





	

**Author's Note:**

> My Christmas present to you all, go and be merry <333
> 
> I meant to post this for the 1st of December and what you talking 'bout, it is the first, I did it okay, no more discussion. 
> 
> Also inspired by that one article that attacked fanfiction and randomly hated coffee shop AU's, because clearly coffee shop AU's are the source of all our problems. 
> 
> I think Derek just got annoyed that there's so much fanfic about him and jumped online.
> 
> (also listen to on top of the world by Imagine Dragons cause 'been waiting on this for a while now, paying my dues to the dirt'. That and 'Last Christmas' by Wham basically wrote this thing)

Derek walks in from the cold, shaking out the snow on his suit and bringing numb hands to his face to blow on them.

The cafe is crowded at this time, and so he goes to stand in line, resisting the urge to grind his teeth into dust. 

Derek rubs at sleep-deprived eyes, suppressing the sigh that wants to escape.

He needed caffeine around eleven hours ago, considering he's been awake for nearing fifteen.

Derek taps his foot impatiently, experiencing the full effects of withdrawal. Or maybe it's exhaustion, hard to tell. He searches the menus, trying not to openly grimace.

Everything on the board is Christmas-themed. There are faux snowflakes lined over the walls, pictures of coffee cups wearing Santa hats.

The names of these drinks are starting to get ridiculous. Starbucks seem to think that they can add a word to a coffee and charge you an extra three bucks for it.

What is a Christmas latte? Derek would really love to know. Putting the word 'Christmas' on the front doesn't change the fact it's a latte. 

What would a Christmas latte even taste like? Have they somehow managed to capture the taste of Christmas and put it in a coffee?

It's not even a _flavour._ That's the thing that really gets to him. 

Christmas isn't a flavour.

"Hello sir, can I get you anything?"

"Filter." Derek states shortly as he shifts through the notes in his wallet.

"Name?"

"Derek."

"How is that spelt?"

Derek glances at the server. "It's spelt. _Derek _.__ "

The boy looks up, eyebrow raised, and his reindeer antlers jingle as he does.

It's the first of fucking December. If he has to deal with this for another month, Derek might just shoot himself.

He stares back at the server, mouth thin, expression blank.

The boy's eyebrows shoot up higher, almost sardonic, before he plasters on a smile. "Thank you, if you want to just wait over there." He picks up a cup and scribbles on it.

Derek sighs, crossing his arms as he stands disdainfully with people probably all waiting for Christmas drinks.

Derek wants to tell them it's not coming. That's it's never coming. That there's no such thing as a Christmas-tasting beverage, and they've all been robbed.

He picks up his to-go coffee when it’s ready, making a brisk exit. It’s only after he’s finished, and he goes to put the cup in the trash, that he sees.

Scrawled across the front, in bold black ink, is _Derique._

____ _ _

*

Derek Hale is the manager of a law firm; he drinks three cups of coffee a day, snaps at his associates, and uses his smile as a weapon to scare people into submission.

He's blunt and brusque, sharply intelligent and cuttingly witty and _hates _this time of year.__

Everything around him is a bright, fluorescent reminder of the fire. The fairy lights across the skies. The music and the smell and the atmosphere.

Every single thing reminds him, and it burns the back of his throat.

His family were happy, laughing, unaware. It only took the smoke in the kitchen for anybody to notice, but by then it was too late. It spread suddenly like wildfire, until Derek couldn’t see anything, anyone.

He stumbled out of the house coughing, thinking they were behind him. He didn’t think it was serious. A house fire, everyone would be fine. So they lose a few things, everyone was _fine._

Derek turned around as soon as he got outside, coughing, but frowned when he didn’t see his sister. He was sure she was there, just behind him. He took a step toward the house.

Derek only remembers searing heat and being thrown, but nothing else. Everything is blank, no matter how hard he tries to search.

A gas leak, the police told him. No survivors.

*

His mom was kind, gentle. Soft, in a way that makes you love her, not underestimate her. Talia was very hard to underestimate.

His sisters were clever, funny, loud. Laura was older, and never let him forget. Cora was the youngest, and Derek never let her forget either.

His dad was fair, always tolerating their fists fights and screaming matches, always forcing them to make up.

They were his family, and he loved them. His whole family, every part and piece of his life. Derek was fifteen years old when he was handed over to his uncle. He's twenty-five now, but nothing is easier.

________*________

It keeps on happening.

_Derick_

_Deric_

_Deryck_

_Derrok_

_Derycq_

Derek exhales from his nostrils after he's given yet another ridiculous paper cup, presses his mouth together and stares up at the server.

The boy smiles, showing off all his teeth.

He's got a Santa hat on this time. He also looks like a cartoon: owlishly wide, amber-coloured eyes, largely freckled face.

His grin stretches the whole of his mouth.

"Really? Derycq?"

"Sorry?" The boy tilts his head, as if is hearing is off.

"Dery- _cq_." Derek states.

"Oh, that's not how it's pronounced." The boy waves a hand, standing back. "I can see the confusion, though."

"How is the q pronounced, then?" Derek inquires politely.

"It's a silent q."

"Is it now?" Derek raises an eyebrow.

The boy turns the corners of his mouth down. "If it's the wrong spelling, I'd be happy to correct it. How is it spelt, sir?" He blinks, waiting patiently, but his eyes glinting.

Derek feels his mouth twitch. He tips his head down. "I concede. You win. Well played."

The boy raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "I'm sorry? There are a lot of variants of Derek. That's why I asked you the first time how you spelt it."

Derek doesn't smile, because he doesn't smile.

Instead, he allows the barest fraction of movement to one side of his mouth. "Well, maybe you should keep trying to find out."

__________________*__________________

There’s a wreath of holly on the door.

As if that isn’t enough – _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _because clearly that isn’t enough__________________ – hand-made decorations are criss-crossing the cafe in rows. Paper snowflakes dangle from the ceiling.

Derek ducks down, taking special effort not to touch them. He edges around as if creeping past an explosive. _Why do I keep coming here?_

Derek isn’t sure if he wants the answer.

There's a Christmas tree in the corner. Lit up with fairy lights and tinsel.

He goes to stand in line, pinching the bridge of his nose to stall the oncoming headache.

From the corner of his eye, Derek spots the boy that usually serves him, and ignores the quick, sudden jolt in his chest that the sight gives him.

He grinds his jaw, refusing to acknowledge this new development.

As soon as he's close enough, he blinks down at the boy’s name tag subtly, trying to come up with an opening sentence, and almost spits.

" _Styles?"_ Derek blurts incredulously. "That's your name?"

'Stiles' crosses his arms, standing back. "Yes."

"That's not a name." Derek states. "It's not even a word."

"I'll have you know it is a word, in many languages." Stiles replies.

Derek gestures for him to go on. "Give me one."

"The name 'Stiles' is of Anglo-Saxon origin, derived from the Old English "stigol" a steep ascent, from "stigan", to climb." Stiles stares at him, eyes challenging.

“Did you memorise that?” Derek asks.

Stiles doesn't blink. “That information is neither here nor there.”

Derek feels a smile coming on. He doesn't let it surface. "You looked up my name." He realises.

"Is it possible that I knew every variant of the name Derek beforehand?" Stiles queries.

Derek flares his nostrils to keep from grinning. "No." He says. "Derique isn't one. All the others are right. So you made the first one up."

Stiles shrugs, but there's a hint of a smile playing across his features.

*

______________________ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

______________________*______________________

They have an agreement.

Every day, Derek will ignore the pounding in his chest when Stiles serves him. Every day, Stiles will pick up a cup and pretend to write his name. Every day is something new.

Every day, Derek gets closer to a smile.

______________________*  
______________________

_Daricke_

_Derricq_

_Daerok_

______________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

_Derek_

He keeps that one.

________________________________*________________________________

Derek’s late for work because he was exhausted from work and so he slept in. Therefore, he needs to grab a coffee and basically run two miles. He’ll look like someone’s goddamn assistant.

He’s curt as he orders, and Stiles seems to notice, eyebrows quirking up before he takes the money and puts it through, picking up ...

That’s a joke. It has to be a joke. Derek is honestly quite scared that it’s not.

He watches in horror as Stiles pours his coffee and hands him a cup. Decorated with candy canes.

“I’m not paying for that.” Derek says.

“You just did.” Stiles states.

“Well.” Derek clenches his jaw. “I refuse to take it.”

“I’m afraid those are the only ones we have.” Stiles says, and smiles sweetly.

Derek grinds his teeth. “I’m not taking that _cup_ into work.”

Stiles holds his hands palm-up, shoulders raised and mouth pursed as if _what to do?_

Derek flares his nostrils, then storms away. He rips a row of decorations down on his way out.

*

He's forced to take one the next time he goes.

Scrawled across the side is _Scrooge _.__

Derek throws it away half empty.

______________________*______________________

Derek wakes up an extra half an hour early in order to be able to sit and drink his goddamn coffee. He's not taking it into work only to throw it away. He pays for the overpriced crap, he should be allowed to drink it.

"Making a change?" Stiles asks as he wipes down a table beside him.

Derek presses his mouth together. "Thought I would enjoy the winter chill this morning. Puts me right in the festive mood." He says.

Stiles smirks as he cleans, and then straightens up. "Tell me something. Why do you hate Christmas so much?"

"I work at a law firm. I need to maintain some level of professionalism." Derek says.

"I'm not talking about the cups." Stiles says. "I can see you. You practically _cringe_ every time you're in here. I'm pretty sure you flinched when you came into contact with a snowflake once."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "You've been watching me, I take it."

The tips of Stiles' ears colour, but he rolls his eyes. "Don't give me that. There's a reason, I know it."

"Maybe I'm just one of those people that doesn't like Christmas."

"I call bullshit." Stiles states.

"When I was younger, I never really liked the idea of an old man coming down my chimney and eating my cookies."

Stiles laughs. "Better, okay, I'll give you that. But seriously, we need trauma here!"

"Isn't a man that knows when you're sleeping and knows when you're awake traumatic enough?" Derek asks.

Stiles throws back his head in laughter. "Now we're getting somewhere!" He grins wide, all white teeth. "But I'm not giving up without a reason."

"My whole family died on Christmas Day."

Stiles claps his hands, staggering back. "Wow, going straight for it! A little cliché, I have to admit." He wobbles a hand.

Derek doesn't say anything. He looks down at his empty cup, and then he says, "I better get to work."

Stiles' face quickly transforms, and then he's frowning. "Wait, wait--"

Derek nods, and strides out.

________________________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

He's quietly minding his own business, filing some report cases and sipping on some cold storeroom coffee, when Stiles suddenly crashes into his office, work clothes still on, Santa hat and Christmas jumper.

"Derek, I had no idea." He's saying. Linda peers inside, standing by the door.

"I wasn't meaning to make light _at all _\--__ " he starts babbling.

"Stiles, did you really have to--" Derek cringes as he sees everyone curiously looking in.

"And I know, okay, I know--"

"Linda, for God sake, close the door." He snaps. "This is embarrassing enough.”

Stiles stops. He just freezes, going completely still. He raises his eyebrows. "Oh, so this is embarrassing, is it?"

Derek wants to hit himself. "No, Stiles, but my colleagues-- "

"Jesus, Derek, I came here to tell you my mom died on Christmas Eve." Stiles laughs, a hard-cold laugh. "I know what it feels like, more than anyone."

Derek stares, numb.

"Forget it, asshole." Stiles waves a hand, and slams the door on the way out.

*

Smiling cheerily at everyone who walks through the door. Taking their orders, recommending the gingerbread. Asking them about their Christmas shopping, where they're going for the holidays. Eyes always sunny, hat always in place.

Surrounded by everything and anyone that acts as a constant reminder. But always, always smiling.

____________________________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

The cafe is closing early and Stiles is getting ready to lock up, making idle conversation with a few stragglers, trying to nudge them along. He hears the jingle of the familiar bell, and sighs.

"I'm sorry, we're clo..." Stiles trails off when he sees the person standing at the doorway. "Oh my God." He says, and despite himself, a huge grin blooms across his face.

Derek has his arms crossed tight over his chest, a flat, unimpressed expression on his face, his red Santa hat nearly falling off his head.

The little white bobble is flopped over his shoulder.

"What are you doing here, Santa?" Stiles gasps theatrically. "Won't the elves need you this close to Christmas?"

Derek walks up slowly, head bent. "I'll admit, I don't usually allow myself to be seen this time of year. But I can make an exception."

Stiles really does smile this time. "Why is that?"

Derek clears his throat, glancing at the other customers who are outright staring, and turns back.

"Um." He straightens his shoulders. "Will you go out with me?" He asks.

Stiles laughs, bright and sunny. "Why?"

"Because I like you." Derek states, as if this is obvious.

"You might have to tell your face." Stiles grins. "I'm not quite sure it knows, buddy."

Derek clenches his jaw so hard the tendons of his neck flex. "Stiles, appreciate what I'm doing here please."

"Oh I am." Stiles tells him. "Don't you worry about that. I'm savoring this moment. I want it to last forever."

From the corner of his eye, he sees the last of the customers leave, quietly slinking out.

Derek presses his mouth together, the muscles of his biceps tensing. "Do you want to go on a date?"

"I think, more than anything, what I want is a camera."

Derek starts stalking toward the door.

"Wait!" Stiles laughs, rushing after him. He catches Derek's arm, forcing him to turn.

And Derek does, turning easily, allowing himself to be pulled back.

Stiles feels his smile soften as he looks at Derek up close; his ridiculously beautiful face, his rough stubble, his surreally bright eyes staring back, flitting over Stiles' expression and trying to find an answer.

"Why did you wear that?"

"Why aren't you _answering?"_ Derek growls.

"Answer me." Stiles asks.

"I asked first." Derek says, because clearly he's seven years old.

Stiles simply raises an eyebrow.

"Because." Derek coughs. "I'm not good with words. I thought it might show you." He waves a hand at his head.

"What?" Stiles grins.

Derek looks to the side as he answers. "That I like you."

"Twice in one day. Christmas came early." Stiles suppresses his laughter.

"You know what, clearly this is a joke to you." Derek states harshly, ripping his arm free. "I wanted it to make you laugh, but Jesus, Stiles, you're being a jackass about it. You could've just said no."

"Only because you ruined my plan." Stiles rushes, and Derek stops at the door.

"Yeah, I had a plan.” He continues, as Derek is silent. “I was going to show up at your work, wearing a suit, a tie, the whole nine. Flowers and everything. I was gonna apologise for the way I reacted. And then ask if I could take you to dinner."

Derek turns again, facing him. His expression is open: honest and vulnerable.

"But you beat me to it." Stiles says, heart beginning to pound with the look on Derek's face, unchanging.

Then Derek is walking forward, only he isn't stopping, and he keeps walking until he collides with Stiles and crashes their mouths together.

Stiles is there in an instant,gripping at Derek, his soft sweater, bunching up the material to feel the warm skin underneath. Derek gasps, pushing closer until he's opening his mouth, tongue skimming Stiles' bottom lip, teeth dragging it between his own to suck.

Stiles tries to be quiet as he makes a soft, choked moan high in his throat. Derek rumbles, thigh slipping in-between Stiles' legs, arms wrapping around Stiles' frame, as close as physically possible.

Stiles feels himself grow lightheaded. They part from the kiss panting, Derek looking a little glassy-eyed and stunned.

"Was that part of your plan?" Derek asks roughly.

Stiles nods. "Yeah."

Derek grins. "Mine too."

______________________________________________*_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

Stiles does wear a suit, but when Derek tries to greet him, he holds up a finger and pulls from behind his back a sprig of mistletoe. He puts it close to his face, eyes alight, mouth pursed, waiting.

Derek feels it coming. He knows it's going to happen. It bubbles in his chest, rising to the surface, breaking free.

He laughs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! Comments and all are very much loved
> 
> I'm also Peasantaries on [Tumblr](https://peasantaries.tumblr.com/), [ Twitter](https://twitter.com/peasantaries), and [ Instagram](https://www.instagram.com/peasantaries/)! Come over and talk to me! I'll never bite <33
> 
> If you want to find ways to support me too, you can find them there! (*^▽^*)( ﾉ^ω^)ﾉﾟ
> 
>  
> 
> *EDIT 2016: I used this piece as an assignment in my creative writing course at university, changed Stiles’ name, and done decently well. Mainly because I ran out of time and had nothing for it, but also because I’m pretty proud of this !! And don’t think it’s awful. 
> 
> Anyone who says fan fiction is really just amateur bad writing is clearly just reading the wrong fan fiction. Not that this is amazing, but hey, I am studying this stuff. And fan fiction got me an A :)


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